Do Not Graffiti the Russian
by cheesecakeplz
Summary: Ivan was hoping he wouldn't have to brutally murder anyone today. Alfred was dead-set on irritating someone. Obviously, the two agendas conflict. Russia/America Oneshot.


**Do Not Graffiti the Russian**

_Prussia/Hungary and Russia/America oneshot for _**Starlight Amethyst**_ and _**Otaku no Baka**

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

* * *

When Ivan awoke from his nap at the World Gathering table, he had certainly not expected to find the room devoid of Nations and the words, "Russia is a fat commie buffoon" written onto his forehead in thick red marker.

And here Ivan was, hoping he wouldn't have to brutally murder anyone today. Oh well.

The Russian stood up slowly, rubbing at the slander in an attempt to erase it. The attempt proved ineffective. After several minutes of wiping at the words with a handkerchief, Ivan determined the marker was permanent.

Yes, Ivan thought to himself with a smile, someone was going to pay for this.

The question was _who_ that 'someone' was unfortunate enough to be. Ivan paused to review his mental list of those he knew either stupid or naive enough to do such a thing; the first on his list happened to be Gilbert, so the gigantic Russian headed off down the hall whistling a merry tune and his trusty faucet slung over one shoulder.

The Prussian proved easy to be found for two determining reasons; one, his hair colour was practically florescent, and two, the sound of a frying pan hitting said Prussian repeatedly over the head was not easy to ignore.

"_Privet_, comrades! Having fun?" Ivan chirped, sidling into the scene just as Elisaveta threw the culinary weapon aside, caught Gilbert in a rather intimidating headlock, and promptly began to give the Prussian the most painful noogie Ivan had ever witnessed. "You moronic, arrogant, bird-brained son of a dog, I swear if you try something like that again, I'll--"

Elisaveta froze mid-threat, however, when she heard Ivan's voice. The Hungarian then proceeded to release Gilbert from his choke-hold and smile sweetly back at the Russian, acting as though she hadn't just been beating someone to a mere stain on the newly carpeted floor.

The previously abused albino sputtered and staggered away to regain his senses, though Ivan could have swore he caught Gilbert mutter, "totally worth it" under his breath.

Interesting.

"What do you need, Russia? Something up?" Elisaveta asked coolly, adjusting her flower hairpin without making more eye-contact with Ivan than the occasional glance. Ivan smiled and began to tap his pipe against the tip of his boot.

"Well, Hungary, as you can probably see, I'm a little angry right now. Can you guess why?" The broad-shouldered blond cooed, casting his gaze over to Gilbert. Elisaveta followed his eyes before turning back to face Ivan, a brow quirked in confusion.

"Gilbert? What did he--"

And then she burst into laughter that was soon joined by the albino himself.

Suffice to say, Ivan did not find the situation as humorous.

With a quiet clearing of his throat, the two fell silent. Gilbert let out the occasional chuckle, but Elisaveta elbowed him sharply in the ribs to silence him. The Prussian crumpled to the floor in pain.

"Would Comrade Gilbert happen to know anything about this?"

Gilbert snickered from his position on the floor, gripping his aching side. "Oh, don't I wish. Man, I would kill to have seen your face when you first saw that!"

Ivan made a tiny cheerful noise from the back of his windpipe that sounded vaguely akin to a giggle. Luckily, Elisaveta knew better and took a careful step backward, (non)accidentally grinding several of Gilbert's fingers under her boot as she did so. Gilbert yelped and scrambled to his feet.

"If my word means anything, Russia, Gilbert has--unfortunately--been with me all day." Elisaveta explained, linking her arm with the albino's. Gilbert grinned and prepared to sling his spare arm over her shoulder, but Elisaveta had suddenly turned to flee, saying nothing more than a quick, "Well, we've got _so_ much more planned for today, so good luck psychologically damaging puppies or little children or Lithuania or whatever you do in your time off!"

Ivan hummed thoughtfully to himself and checked Gilbert off his mental list.

Next up; Feliks.

Again, the subject of Ivan's hunt was relatively conspicuous, what with all the flamboyant hand gestures and unfavorably loud voice. The very sound of it echoed down several hallways, along with many 'ohmigod's and 'like totally's; Ivan groaned inwardly and headed towards the noise.

Peering around the corner, he found Feliks and his faithful friend Toris linked arm in arm. Toris was smiling—truely smiling—with a light pink tinting his cheeks. Feliks was yammering on about something or other related to some skirts he owned.

Ivan decided to interrupt before Toris could look any happier. "Hello, my favourite little comrades! How are we today?"

Ivan's smile quickly replaced Toris's, who presently looked as though he was going to have a spontaneous panic attack. Feliks scowled and tugged his friend close, glaring at the ground as if it had personally offended him.

"Well, we were _totes_ awesome until you and your ugly face decided to show up. For serious." The Pole snorted, throwing his hair over his shoulder in a pout. The colour had gone from Toris's cheeks.

"With that lovely comment in mind, would either of you know anything about what has been written on my forehead? Or noticed it?"

Feliks chose that moment to glance up to the Russian's face and explode into hysterical giggles, tugging on Toris's sleeve. The Lithuanian's face had gone completely white with his jaw hanging open in horror.

Ivan began to tap his pipe against the ground, prompting uneasy quiet in the hallway.

Feliks, however, took the silence as an invitation rather than a warning. "Uh, yeah. Are you looking for compliments, here? 'Cuz if you are, that red _totally _doesn't match your eyes. Or your scarf. Or your hair. Sorry." He said with a quick, disapproving glance as he turned to leave, dragging Toris with him.

Ivan caught Feliks's shoulder and spun both the Pole and the Lithuanian to face him; Toris flinched. Feliks glanced up at Ivan's forehead and giggled again.

Ivan then decided the most logical course of action to make the cross-dressing blond see exactly what he was upset about was to bend down to his level and glare directly in his eyes; the tactic had proved to work in more than one past incident.

...but evidently did not work on Feliks. A bubble of laughter came again from the Pole's lips, slightly more hysterical than before, but otherwise he remained unnerved. "You really need some facial cleanser, _Rosja, _'cuz that frostbite sure is messing with your_--"_

_ "_Listen, you. If one more word not related to the matter at hand comes out of your mouth, I will not hesitate to do something very, very unfortunate to your face. And I'm not hanging noodles from your ears." Ivan interrupted, making quite sure Feliks was paying more attention to his words than his skin condition. The Pole froze, blinking, before giving a careful nod. The corners of his lips twitched upward briefly. Ivan grinned back, tightening his hold.

"Did you or did you not write this on my head, Poland?"

Feliks flicked carelessly at the Russian's fingers, smiling yet again. "Uh, yeah, okay. First off, stop tugging on my shirt, it's designer and I bought it yesterday, and secondly, as much as it would be totally hilarious and amazing, I, like, don't have a death-wish. So, yeah, count me out." The Pole paused, giggling for a moment at the forehead-graffiti; "But y'know, I thought I saw America with a red pen earlier during the meeting. Wasn't he, like, sitting right next to you?"

Ivan promptly released Feliks and stomped off, leaving Toris to sputter in absolute horror that his friend had 'given Mr. America away'. The Russian heard Feliks wave Toris's fear off with a dismissive laugh; saying it was for the best, and did by any chance Toris have any plans to prepare _makowiec_ for dessert this evening?

Ivan growled, his final target recognized.

Alfred.

He should have known.

Luckily, the self-proclaimed global hero was not difficult to locate—almost less so than Ivan's previous encounters. Alfred had been boasting to Kiku (who looked about ready to speak to Im Yung instead, and that was saying something) about some sort of new space-related machine by the water cooler. Just as Kiku began to reply, Ivan promptly broke into the conversation with a cheerful; "Hello, Jones, I'm going to kill you."

Kiku then decided to choke on his coffee. Alfred burst into poorly hidden, immature giggles, elbowing his friend in the side. Ivan folded his arms across his chest, still smiling broadly. "Any last words?"

Alfred was wheezing with laughter now, clutching onto Kiku's shoulder. The Japanese man had finally managed to regain composure and was attempting to release himself from Alfred's hold, muttering some sort apology as he did so. Unfortunately, Alfred's grip was stronger than iron.

Somehow, this scene annoyed Ivan in a way he hadn't previously felt.

He began to tap his faucet rhythmically against the carpet. Kiku attempted to get Alfred's attention, but the American refused to pay any sort of recognition other than a glance at the forehead and even more poorly concealed chuckles.

"Poor last words, Jones. Oh we--"

"Hang on, hang on, Braginsky!" Alfred snickered from Kiku's shoulder, drawing himself upright with a grin. Ivan ground his teeth, awaiting his answer with the metal pipe raised.

"So, uh--" the bespectacled blonde paused to cough back another laugh, "you enjoyed my artistic talent?"

"Hardly." Ivan managed to grind out, feeling certain his eyelid was twitching. Kiku bit his lip and fidgeted nervously at Alfred's side. Alfred merely put on a face of mock disappointment.

"Well, damn! What a shock, huh, Kiku? I thought he'd get a kick out of it!" He said, straining to keep on a frown while nudging Kiku in the ribs—probably fracturing a few of them—and casting a furtive look in Ivan's direction. He was smirking now, a look that made Ivan want to either beat the expression off or grab his face and---

Suddenly, Ivan's cheeks felt very, very warm.

Alfred was still continuing with the sly quirk of the lips and mockery at Kiku's side; "At least people will know what this guy's like before they actually meet him! The fat part's obvious, though, you could probably see him from a plane or something. That reminds me, did you know viewing a moose from an airplane in Alaska is illegal? Hope no one made that mistake with this guy, huh?"

"Alfred-san, if I may be blunt, I don't think such things are very clever to say--"

Alfred glanced up once again to Ivan's face, chuckling. The smile disappeared altogether when he saw the careful pink on the Russian's round face. Soon after, a strange look entered his eyes, replacing the grin.

"Hey, Kiku, could you give us a sec? Braginsky and I need to talk, see."

Kiku quickly bowed and made his exit, almost bolting towards Heracles, who had been napping in the windowsill.

Alfred turned to face Ivan again once Kiku had exited their company. Ivan, feeling oddly shy, shifted nervously on his feet. The American before him began to grin again.

"It wasn't very nice of you, Alfred."

Alfred laughed, taking a step closer. "Yeah, I know. But you weren't paying much attention to me today. I got bored." The blond stopped to smile broader than before. "And jealous. Just sayin'."

The entire room was rather hot now, Ivan supposed. He tugged at his scarf, feeling rather flustered.

"D-does it come off? The marker, I mean."

"Uh, yeah. It should. Hang on." With that, Alfred reached up and began scrubbing at Ivan's forehead with his palm. The graffiti was determined to stay.

"Is it still there?"

"Mm, yeah, it is. Alright, this calls for desperate measures..." The glasses-wearing American began, his tone ominous. Ivan frowned. He had heard that tone only in the most dire of times, and it was never a good sign--

Alfred took a step forward, onto his tip-toes, and pressed his lips to Ivan's forehead. The Russian could only gape and blush the colour of borscht when the blond drew away, grinning like a loon, only to return again and lay a sloppy kiss onto Ivan's cheek.

"There! That should do the trick," Alfred chuckled, offering poor sputtering Ivan a fleeting wink, "But make sure to wash it with some soap or something if it doesn't come off all the way." When Ivan didn't respond, the bespectacled blond became concerned and nudged the Russian in the side. "Aw, come on. I'll make it up to you, see? We'll go for a burger, maybe some fries, but the economy's bad so nothing too--"

It was Ivan's turn to surprise his rival with a kiss, shyly but firmly placing an arm around his waist. "No burgers. Your burgers are disgusting."

Alfred stood in shocked silence before bursting into laughter as they headed down the hallway. "What're you talking about? My burgers are awesome, just like me!"

"You are awesome, yes. But your burgers, _nyet_."

"Aw, you meanie."

"Says the Nation who wrote, 'Russia is a fat commie moron' on my forehead."

"Are you still stuck on that? I already apologized, didn't I?"

"_Da_, but I still expect retribution. Not in burgers, either, you brainless American."

"If you say so, my crazy Russian."

And so, another Cold War was averted.

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A/N: Goodness, I certainly ran off with this one. I didn't intend for it to be so long. My apologies to everyone who suffered through my writing for the entire thing. OTL

I also tried my hand at Prussia/Hungary but I kind of failed. Again, it's implied, so...that's okay, right? ;u;; The Russia/America was pretty blatant though haha.

...btw, if my other story, Apophasis, makes you upset, just imagine this as the alternate ending or something lol. xD

I'll take one more oneshot request from a lucky (or maybe not so lucky, judging by my writing skill) individual! Ask away! :D

As always, please leave your opinions! Thanks for reading! Hope you liked, **Starlight Amethyst**and**Otaku no Baka**! 3


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